


Trading Lives

by NowhereGirl_N



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, AnnaDean, CW, CW Channel, Destiel - Freeform, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, I dont own these characters, Kinda, M/M, Megstiel - Freeform, Prince!Cas, Slow Burn, Supernatural AU - Freeform, bottom! dean, castiel novak - Freeform, destiel au, duh - Freeform, prince!Dean, slightly A/B/O world, top! Cas
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-09
Updated: 2019-01-23
Packaged: 2019-10-07 01:29:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17356412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NowhereGirl_N/pseuds/NowhereGirl_N
Summary: 200 years into the future, only North America Stands after a brutal extinction war. It's split into three sections, all still at war: the Rogue Land, the Anthropinos, ruled by the Winchester Family, and the Theosevis Land, ruled by the Novak Family.When the Winchesters find themselves at a terrible loss, the Novaks offer a deal--trade one life for another.This is where Dean Winchester's and Castiel Novak's story begins.





	1. Some Notes

Here's some notes to start off. I would probably do these in the notes, but people have a tendency to skip over that.  
This isn't super important, but like: love me please.  
This story is kind of confusing. It switches from story to story a lot and you might lose track. This is my fault.  
It's not edited yet.  
There is Dean/Anna for a while, but do not worry, Destiel will come to be! There is also, of course, Megstiel. These are in the tags and in the relationship tags, I just want to remind people.  
Also, there will be a raping... or maybe more (sorry if you're not comfortable with that) I know it is in the warnings--but just to reiterate. I will put warnings at the top, along with warnings for smut.

And last: please do not murder me for making Chuck and Becky a couple. I couldn't think of anyone to partner up with Chuck, so I just went with the one that existed at some point.  
please don't kill meeee

 

oh yeah, i might take a long ass to update at times

:)


	2. [1] 768 Soldiers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is a little short-  
> *~* Noe

Maybe it was waking up to a terribly red sky or the lack of noise in the palace—but the second Dean Winchester fell into consciousness, he knew something wasn’t right.

His head pounded from the many drinks he had downed and his eyes strained against the somewhat bright light. He sat up in bed, biceps bulging as his arms worked to keep him upward. He groaned and ran a hand down his face. His light brown hair was a mess and his green eyes were lined by red veins.

It took Dean a moment to notice, but, there was a very eery lack of noise. No maids barging down the hallways, chirping in a completely different language. No birds screaming outside in the garden. No one banging on his door. Maybe he should’ve been glad that no one was bothering him, but he wasn’t.

There was never a silent moment in this palace.

Never.

Not even the day that his father sent the whole staff away to enjoy themselves for the day.

He threw his legs over the bed and stood up, ignoring the blood that rushed to his head and made his vision swim. Dean didn’t bother with any decencies—he threw a thin, silk bathrobe over his almost naked body—then marched out of the room. Not a single maid in sight. Nobody. The only living thing was the vivacious green plant that sat in some ancient vase.

Dean’s mouth turned down and he turned and hurried towards the west wing where his parents were. Maybe they would have an explanation. If they weren’t gone too.

He made it to their room after struggling down the white and red hallways—each one the same as the other. Despite living there his whole life, the young man still got lost. He knocked on the grand double doors loudly. Seconds passes and just as anxiety started to rear its ugly head again, the door opened to reveal his mom.

She was already in day attire; or close to it anyways. It was nothing like her normal wear—nothing like the dress—actually, it wasn’t even a dress. She wore a brown dress shirt that was tucked into black trousers. The trousers were clearly her husband’s—the pair was held up by a belt that was buckled into newly added holes.

“Dean, what do you need?” She murmured, brushing the few pieces of blonde hair from her face.

Now, Mary Winchester was a good liar; a very good liar. But in this moment, the woman couldn’t still her face long enough to pass as indifferent. Emotions—anxiety, fear, curiosity, anger—swirled on her face as her son searched her face. She knew why Dean was worried, she was worried about the same thing.

“Where is everyone Mom?” He asked and threw a wary look over his shoulder as if a ghost would float past him any second.

The woman pursed her lips, brown eyes lowering. She played with the buttons on her shirt. Her thoughts spiraled and she sighed.

“Let’s wait for your brother, this isn’t something I want to repeat over and over.”

The air was thick as the three sat down in Mary Winchester’s room to discuss the reasons behind the silence in the palace. The boys’ mother sipped at her steaming tea, eyes fogged over as she let her thoughts wander away. It wasn’t easy to wake up at four in the morning to such terrible news.  
“Your father left the palace this morning, with all his extra soldiers and guards to go to the battle field,” Mary started and glanced up at her sons for a moment, “we received news that seven hundred-sixty-eight soldiers were killed. He went to check out the damage.”  
“Was it a surprise attack?” Sam asked, his dark eyebrows furrowed.  
Mary nodded. The battlefield had been quiet for the past weeks, but out of nowhere, one of the general’s sent in a terrified call—five thousand soldiers had jumped them. One thousand against five thousand. You didn’t have to be a genius to know the result. She hadn’t been on the phone, but from what she heard and what she saw, it wasn’t good.  
———  
 _The peace and darkness was interrupted by an obnoxious ringing. It wouldn’t go away, over and over. When it stopped it was replaced by a deep voice—her husband’s. Mary sat up and groaned; who was calling this late at night? Her brown eyes met the similarly-colored eyes of her husband. A frown was on his face, worry flickering in his eyes._  
 _“Who is it?” She whispered, scooting closer to him. John held up a finger, eyes tired behind the curiosity._  
 _Mary scooted even closer until her ear was almost pressed to his. She tried to listen in, but it was hard. The other person’s voice was garbled—a mix of a bad connection and… crying? She leaned back, watching as his face morphed into horror. He jumped out of bed and flicked on a lamp._  
 _Scars lined the man’s back, leading all the way up to his black, graying hair. He turned around, meeting his wife’s confused gaze. He groaned, rubbing at the dark bags underneath his eyes. John moved closer, tucking a piece of her blonde hair behind her ear. He smiled wistfully._  
 _He hung up, setting the phone down on the nightstand._  
 _“It was Bobby, the west army has been ambushed. He’s not sure how many survivors there are,” he explained, “I have to go with backup and make sure everything is okay.”_  
 _“Wait,” Mary cried, reaching up and grabbing his wrist. Her eyes searched his. “Let me come with.”_  
 _He shook his head. “No. Stay here for the boys. For the people.”_  
 _“John ple-”_  
 _He had already walked away._  
 _She got out of bed, no longer able to sleep. She peered out the window and stared at the cloudy sky that covered the moon. Trees swayed like ominous shadows in the dark and wind howled between the cracks in the walls. The sound of hooves clattered along the path as the King left his home with twenty well-trained soldiers following behind._  
 _Her hand pressed against the cold window—please let him return._  
———  
Now she stared at the same hand, remembering the cold that had burned into it only hours ago. The hand that had wiped away her tears as she backed away from the window. If her husband didn’t return she knew the kingdom would be in ruins.  
As much as she loved her sons and as much as she praised them and believed in them; Dean wasn’t ready to be King. Although he was well above age at twenty three, the boy—rather young man—still had much to learn and still acted like a child at times. Or maybe Mary just wasn’t ready to accept that her husband had been torn from the throne by death.  
“But what about the maids?” Dean asked, “it’s not just the guards. Everyone’s missing.”  
Mary shrugged, she didn’t know. The palace had gone awfully silent after John’s departure. She wouldn’t be surprised if some went home or even if some followed the group to the west field to see if their lovers had fallen. Some were probably still here, but just hiding. This wasn’t the first tragedy she’d experienced in the palace and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. It had a tendency to quiet down a lot around here when something awful happened.  
“What can we do to help?” Sam queried, leaning forward in his chair. His brown eyes lit up with determination and a hint of something darker. Mary knew what he wanted—equal bloodshed—but she refused to turn her son into a monster.  
Dean was just as eager, but he knew to keep it hidden around his mother. His father had grown up learning to fight on the battlefield and spent most of Dean’s childhood there. Only in the past several years had his father been home frequently. Mary hated it and refused to let her children grow up the same way. Although, Dean had to silently admit, that he sometimes had private lessons with his dad and Uncle Bobby.  
“Sit and wait. If your father returns he will have a plan and if he doesn’t…” she trailed off, wishing she didn’t have to say the words, “we’ll probably have to make a deal with the Novak family.”  
Sam opened his mouth to argue but his argument was cut off when he let out a yelp as his older brother kicked his shin. Dean could feel it radiating from his mother—the sadness, the anxiety—she didn’t have enough energy to put up with the youngest Winchester right now. Dean himself didn’t; his head still pounded angrily from the night before and he was undeniably tired, but he had to stay strong for his mom.  
For his brother.  
For his dad, even though he wasn’t here.  
His mother got up and left and his brother followed suit, going off in a different direction. Dean sighed, sagging down into the chair. He prayed that his father returned, he knew his mother would go through with the deal before she let him even touch the title of throne.  
The Novak family was awful. Their deals were horrifying, they were brutal in war, and he heard that they were all taught to fight to the death with their bare hands. They had seven children—and they all sounded sadistic.  
He knew if his father didn’t return, it wouldn’t be from death. The Novak’s had taken out other royal families by forcing distrust into the family. They would take his father alive and demand something—or someone—else in exchange that could completely tear the Winchester family apart. He hoped his mother wouldn’t fall for that. That she would choose the kingdom, the family over her own husband.  
He knew she could do it.  
But little did he know.


	3. [2] Success

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this one is kind of longer. I hope you enjoy! *~* Noe

“Only two hundred-thirty-two soldiers made it out alive, Your Majesty.”  
Castiel Novak wasn’t interested in war talk—he couldn’t give two craps about war—but his father was the one who invaded his space hours earlier. Now, the guard was reporting, and he just happened to be nearby. The book in front of him, Greek Mythology, was completely forgotten as he strained to hear.  
His fingers unconsciously tapped on the table. Throughout the past seven years, he had little interest they had with Anthropinos Land. But he was curious, he had heard of the planned ambush attack on the west squadron and he wondered if it worked. Castiel looked up, staring at his father through the bookshelf.  
“How many of our soldiers still stand?” Chuck asked, adjusting the glasses on his face.  
“Barely any—but we’ve just received news that John Winchester himself is riding towards the west squadron. Should we take action?” The guard queried.  
“Let’s see what my youngest son thinks,” the King huffed and turned towards his son.  
Castiel ducked his head, although he wasn’t too ashamed. The walls of this palace had ears, he wasn’t the only one listening in, but he was the most obvious. He got up, running a hand through his dark hair in an attempt to fix. It didn’t matter, his hair always looked like he just crawled out of bed.  
“I’m not the expert on war father,” he said, making quick eye contact with the guard before turning to his father. Chuck laughed, taking off his glasses.  
He always found Castiel the most interesting out of all seven Novaks. It was hard to explain, but Castiel didn’t really have a personality. Lucifer was sarcastic with a sardonic side, Michael was suave and violent, and Raphael was competitive. Gabriel had a wild sense of humor, Anna was rebellious and motivated, and Balthazar was sort of a miniature version of Gabriel, but more laid back. Then there was Castiel—who stayed hidden away and his only defining trait was his bluntness. His youngest was sometimes a bit of an asshole and there was times where he showed his sassy side, but other than that, his son was very plain.  
So, as you can imagine, Chuck was very interested to know Castiel’s thoughts on war.  
“Well, what should we do with John Winchester?” Chuck asked, leaning back in his chair. Of course Chuck would go after John Winchester no matter what, but he wondered what he should do with him.  
“Take him hostage? Whatever you want father, it’s your choice,” Castiel muttered, already losing interest in the conversation. War, war, war and nothing else.  
“You’ve read a lot, don’t tell me you don’t have any crazy ideas!”  
Castiel frowned—he wasn’t aware that his father even knew that much about him. He had a tendency to wake up late, eat breakfast in his room, and then disappear somewhere deep into the library for a long time. His own siblings didn’t know that—not even Gabriel, the only sibling that he had a close (ish) relationship with. He liked to keep his life private and away.  
He made quick eye contact with the grey-eyed guard.  
Some parts more private than others.

_Castiel wasn’t one to drink—actually, that was a lie. He drank a lot, but he normally wasn’t affected by it. But now, a buzz rolled through his body and he wanted to do something wild; dangerous. A smirk tugged at his plush lips as he strutted down the long corridors. Honestly, he had no idea where he was going, but he was going somewhere._   
_In his mind, he remembered the gorgeous grey-eyed, blonde-haired guard he had seen the other day. He looked young—newer. Castiel wasn’t one to run after his desires, but the mix of the alcohol and the glorious memory burned into his mind fueled him on. He hazily searched through the many guards throughout the palace._   
_There._   
_“You!” He chirped, his voice having more of a slur than he would’ve liked._   
_The guard looked up, blinking rapidly, confusion filling his amazingly-colored eyes._   
_“Follow me.”_   
_The guard was obviously perplexed, but he didn’t argue. He followed the young prince through the hallways until he stopped in front of an empty room. Castiel glanced around, his dark blue eyes darting around. No one was anywhere near. He smiled coyly at the guard, grabbed his collar, opened the door, and shoved him in._

The raven-haired boy shook himself from his reverie. Heat rushed through his cheeks as he met his father’s curious gaze. He refused to look back at the guard and just smiled and shook his head. He had plenty of ideas, but his mind was too boggled for him to pick one out from the other. His father had his older brothers who always offered terrible ideas.  
“I’m sorry father, but I’m not feeling very well, I think I’m going to step outside.”  
He rarely stepped outside—his pale skin gave him away—but right now he needed to escape.  
Chuck dismissed him and he quickly rushed away. He wished he could say that he didn’t regret what he did, but he did. He had never once acted out like that and now there was a chance he could be thrown to the wolves. In other words: his brothers.  
He honestly wasn’t sure how his father felt about… that, but he wasn’t in the mood to find out. His father was amazing at making people disappear without a trace and stopping people from asking around, Castiel didn’t want to be the next victim. He’d rather stay hidden for as long as possible.  
“Hello Clarence.”  
He jumped, letting out a loud curse.  
Castiel turned around and came face to face with Meg.  
“What?” He snapped, “also, my name isn’t ‘Clarence!’”  
The girl giggled and rolled her eyes. “You sure?”  
Castiel crossed his arms. He wasn’t in the mood for her games—the games she always had to play. Her ego was out of the roof.  
“What do you want?” He deadpanned. He had learned a while back that Meg only talked to him when she wanted something.  
“I came to help… with you and lover boy. You really weren’t as quiet or as secretive as you thought,” she snorted.  
White hot terror raced through him. She knew. How many other people knew? What if his own father knew? He pursed his lips, trying to fight back the worry that wiggled through him. He just had to stay calm and act like she was crazy.  
“Ple-”  
“Don’t play idiot with me Castiel. Other people heard and some of them knew it was you, but no one knew who the mystery lover was,” she said with a smirk, “so, I’m offering my help.”  
Castiel narrowed his eyes, staring into her brown ones. She wasn’t lying—or she was just a really good one. He rolled his eyes and huffed—what help could she be? Meg wasn’t a nobody; she was the daughter of a Lord, but she didn’t have the best reputation. She was known for sleeping around, doing drugs, excessive drinking, stealing from her own father, and he’d heard she’d even attacked some important person. The only help she could offer is maybe murdering that guard.  
“See, Clarence, people are going to start wondering who it was and not gonna lie… some might start to put two and two together. Unless…”  
He frowned, impatience swimming through him.  
“Unless what, Meg?”  
“Unless you’re with somebody else,” she retorted. A coy smile pulled at her lips. Mischief danced in her eyes. Castiel pinched the bridge of his nose—it’s a terrible idea. But so was sleeping with the guard in a palace full of people.  
———  
Chuck had decided to hold a celebratory banquet. Unfortunately, everyone was forced to attend and it wasn’t something Castiel could wiggle out of. His father would be furious if he didn’t show.  
He stood in front of the mirror, adjusting his hair and tie. His hair actually looked pretty good just this once—mostly smoothed down and it wasn’t a whirlwind. His dress shirt was lazily tucked into his black pants, but the best part was that he had lost his tuxedo and so now he looked uncomplete.  
Maybe now his father would regret forcing him to come.  
He did a twirl in front of the mirror one more time before deciding that it was fine. He left his room and stopped outside, taking a deep breath. When he opened his eyes, he came face to face with Meg. She mockingly smiled at him as she pulled on his tie.  
“Could you not pop up without saying anything?” He grumbled.  
“Sorry, Clarence, creeping people out is my specialty,” Meg chirped, flicking a piece of hair behind her shoulder. He would’ve laughed if it wasn’t true, but unfortunately that seemed to be her speciality. “And yours is being the boring side dish.”  
He snorted, “whatever. Let’s just get this over with.”  
It was clear the girl wanted to say something more, but she kept her mouth shut. Castiel didn’t feel prepared for this moment—the moment where he started lying to the whole palace. Sure, he’d been lying for years about his sexuality, but this was something completely different. He had to pretend to be in a relationship with Meg.  
He had to pretend to enjoy it.  
The two made their way to the dining hall. Castiel’s stomach rolled as too many people milled around. The whole Royal family was there, along with the seven other court families. Meg smiled at her father and waved. The man barely smiled until his eyes slid to the arm she was on, then it became a full out grin.  
Of course this wasn’t just for his sake, she had an ulterior motive. But when Castiel glanced down at her and saw genuine happiness on her face, he couldn’t be too annoyed. Everyone knew about Meg’s rocky relationship with her father, maybe it was time that it changed.  
“Castiel!” Chuck exclaimed as he hurried towards his youngest son. Although he had threatened with many things, he honestly hadn’t expected him to show up. Not only did he show up, but he showed up with a date.  
What a pleasant surprise.  
“Meg, lovely to see you as always,” the King said with a tight smile.  
Maybe he wasn’t _too_ happy about who his son’s date was.  
“Father.”  
“Your Majesty.”  
Chuck nodded again and then got distracted by someone else and ran off. Castiel shook his head, still confused by the joy in this. Meg practically dragged him through the crowd, hurrying towards the waiter who stood with a tray full of champagne. The girl grabbed two and when she offered one to him, he wrinkled his nose.  
Last time he drank hadn’t turned out very well.  
Meg rolled her eyes, but didn’t complain. She downed both flutes and then handed them to a random pair of people. She ignored the looks of disgust and just pulled Castiel off. The two paused on the outside of the crowd, just watching together. She sighed.  
“This would be way more fun if your father actually had a good taste in music.”  
She glanced at Castiel, expected some sort of reaction, but got none.  
“Hello?”  
He continued to ignore her, his gaze focused on something on the other side of the room. She followed his gaze. Rather, someone. The same guard from before stood there, dressed in his usual attire, but his hair was much neater. He was fidgeting, clearly uncomfortable, but completely unaware of Castiel’s obvious stare.  
“Don’t give yourself away lover boy, that would be quite the shame,” she cooed and then broke out into laughter afterwards. Castiel quickly snapped his gaze away, red dancing over his cheeks and ears.  
Meg had to agree—the guard was quite the looker. Of course, he didn’t really look like guard material. His shoulders and chest were rather narrow, although he was tall and lean. She laughed again and when she turned to Castiel to say something she was interrupted by a loud raucous near the doors.  
“John Winchester is here, Your Majesty.”


	4. [3] The Deal

    Castiel didn’t know why he ended up in the meeting room with his father, tow brothers, and his father’s general; Crowley. There had been confusion after the guard announced that John Winchester had been captured and for some reason, his father demanded he come with him. Castiel had tried to argue his way out of it, but Chuck wasn’t having it.

“Please father, you should let me torture him before you make any deals with the Winchesters,” Lucifer said, a wicked smile flickering along his lips. Michael scoffed, elbowing his older brother. Chuck sighed, “yes, well, we need to return John Winchester to them in… semi perfect condition if the trade will go through well. But what we really need to figure out is what we trade John for or what we demand.”

    Silence rolled through the room as no one produced an answer. Lucifer only wanted one thing: to torture the other King. Michael would rather do whatever his father wanted and Crowley never got a say. Castiel, well, he wasn’t in the mood to play his father’s games. Chuck glanced around, his gaze settling on the raven-haired Novak.

Castiel looked away, avoiding the fact that he didn’t have an answer for his father. Actually, he did—several ideas—but he didn’t want to get roped into anything. He didn’t want to be “one of the guys.” He had no interest in getting closer to Michael or Lucifer; both sucked in different ways.

“Come on boys, I know someone has an idea!” Chuck groaned, leaning back in his chair. He tipped his head up to the ceiling and closed his eyes.

“Well,” Crowley huffed, sipping at a glass of wine, “it’s not like the Winchesters have any girls they can hand over for any of your boys to marry. And I highly doubt they’d trade either of their boys for Anna… so I say we offer John for surrender.”

Chuck opened his mouth to say something, but no one found out if it was in agreement.

“Booooo! That’s so boring. Surrender? Seriously? I say we hang John Winchester from one of their flag poles and let his blood soak their ground,” Lucifer stated, leaning back and smirking like he just solved world hunger.

Although, John Winchester wasn’t the reason for world hunger.

“Why don’t we just trade their current king for their future king?” Michael suggested.

    A smile pulled at Chuck’s lips as he turned to his second oldest son. Crowley nodded, although he wasn’t interested in the conversation—he was more annoyed at the fact that he was out of wine. Lucifer rolled his eyes, already knowing he lost.

And that’s what led to a loud, boisterous laughter erupting in the gleaming white room.

 

“So, I heard that they’re going to offer John Winchester for their oldest son… Dennis? Deacon? Dmitri?” Meg asked. The girl laid on the Castiel’s bed, head falling off as she flipped mindlessly through a magazine.

“Dean.”

“Are you gonna go when they offer the deal?” “No.”

    Meg flipped over onto her stomach, sending an annoyed glare his way. The boy didn’t even notice as he picked at his nails. She groaned and threw the magazine (something from over 300 years ago, but somehow still managed to look brand new) right at his head. Castiel’s head shot up as he tossed the shiny paper book at the floor and stood up. He marched towards her, only to stop when she suggestively wiggled her eyebrows at him.

“I can’t wait until this ordeal is over,” he huffed and returned to his chair. She laughed, flipping her hair over her shoulder.

“So, I bet you hope they take the deal. Another pretty boy in the palace to admire… or more,” she chirped, sliding off the bed. Castiel frowned and glanced up at her. The two stared at each other in confusion before Meg let out a shocked laugh. “You mean… you haven’t seen the gorgeous Winchester boy?”

“No…”

Meg leaned back, eyes wide in disbelief. Then she shook her head, a smirk forming. He stood up, moving towards her, but she evaded.

“Oh this is too good!”

“What does he look like?” Meg covered her mouth, refusing to answer. “Dammit, Meg!”

The girl giggled again and ducked under Castiel’s arm, escaping out the room. He frowned as the door slammed. Was Dean Winchester really that pretty? He didn’t want to seem like a giggly little girl, but he was desperate to find out. If the trade went through, the young man would be here the rest of his life most likely.

He’d be stupid to leave.

    Castiel sighed, trying to fight back the terrible idea. He knew his father had tabs on all the royal families—the ones that used to exist and the one that still does. Castiel had seen the files before, lines upon lines of notes, a family photo, and sometimes even separate pictures of each member.

Dean would be Anna’s, but it’d be nice to know what will be walking into his palace.

He hurried out of the room, rushing down the dark red and brown hallways, occasionally glancing over his shoulder to make sure no one was following him. At some point he got so distracted looking over his shoulder that he ran straight into a half-table with some expensive vase on it. Let’s just say that it was still expensive, but just happened to be littered over the floor. It might’ve gone down in value a little bit.

His father’s study was wide open. The shiny black desk was a mess—Castiel wasn’t the only one looking into the Winchester family. Specifically, the oldest son. He didn’t have to look hard to find Dean Winchester’s file: it sat on top, closed, but some papers stuck on.

Castiel opened it and was met by several pages of random notes. He ignored them as he messily flicked through the pages in desperate search of a photo. He tried to ignore the internal feeling that raged, but it was too strong—shame. He was grown man, freaking over at the idea of a good-looking man. For all he knew, Dean wasn’t that good looking. Meg might’ve just been playing with him.

Although there was no picture in the file, one sheet stuck out.

Physical description:

Hair: light brown.

Eyes: Green

Height: 6’1”

Weight: 160

Broad shoulders, strong arms, strong legs. Clearly athletic. Easily could be soldier or a blacksmith.

 

Castiel snorted.

A prince as a blacksmith.

    Although the description eased his curiosity a little, he still wanted to see a picture. He frowned, shuffling through his father’s desk. The Winchester file stood front and center. It overflowed. Castiel shuffled through it, blue eyes flicking over the pages as he searched for a family photo this time.

_There._

    A man and a woman stood side by side, faint smiles on their faces. Two younger boys—both in their teen years—stood in front of them, both sporting wider smiles. He knew immediately which one was Dean Winchester. His green eyes sparkled in the picture, freckles dusting over his face, and his light brown hair messily pushed out of his face. His smile was white and his lips were full and pink.

A blush rose onto Castiel’s cheeks.

———

They just got the news nine hours ago—his father had been taken captive by the Novak family. Chuck Novak was sending his general and several soldiers to negotiate a deal. Dean’s fingers clenched tightly on the wooden armrests of the chair he sat in. His brother, Sam, paced in front of him. Their mother was nowhere to be found, but she was probably somewhere nearby.

He never thought it’d be this hard to sit and wait for them to arrive. What would the deal be? Would it be a trade? Would the Winchesters be lucky enough to just be offered a truce? Their father if they backed down? Dean would be willing to do it, but he wasn’t sure about his mother.

“Dean, what do we do if they demand lives?” Sam asked.

Dean shrugged and rubbed at his eyes.

“They’ve already taken enough, haven’t they?” He snapped, “it would be unfair.” “Yeah, but do you think they care about _fair?_ ” His younger brother retorted, throwing his hands into the air.

No, they wouldn’t be.

Dean groaned and stood up, preparing to go into his room, but was interrupted. A maid nervously stepped into the sitting room, shuffling before them. Her brown eyes studied the floor.

“They’re here. Charlotte has gone to get your mother. Please come to the conference room.”

 

Mary Winchester had decided one thing—she would do anything to get her husband back. He was the love of her life. So, as she followed the maid down to the room, she repeated her pep-talk over and over. _We need the King, we need the King, we need the King._

It was hard to accept reality as she stepped into the throne room, coming face to face with the true issue: the Novak’s. Her two sons sat on one side of the table, fear and anger rolling off them in waves. The enemy on the other side—two sitting down with stupid smiles on their face.

“Where’s my husband?” She demanded as she came to stand in front of the chair. She met the general’s stare: she wasn’t afraid, she knew she could have full control of the situation if she played her cards right.

“He’s out with the other soldiers, don’t worry dearie,” Crowley cooed, motioning to the chair. She frowned as she sat down.

“What’s the offer? I’m not in the mood for niceties,” Mary huffed, leaning forward on her elbows. She stared into his brown eyes, narrowing her own. Mary Winchester was an intimidating woman—but not now. Not when she was clearly weared down by stress and lack of sleep. Not when her own sanity was chipping.

“Now, now Mary, don’t rush it,” Lucifer laughed, leaning back in his chair, “maybe we could get some wine and snacks?”     Mary rested her hand on her youngest son’s arm when he started to rise from his chair. She shot him a warning glare before turning back to Chuck’s oldest. She’d met him before once, she learned him quickly. Simply put: Lucifer was a cocky asshole. And the only way to deal with an egotistical idiot was to blow up your own ego.

“That’s ‘Your Majesty’ to you Prince Lucifer and if you want a snack, you can go get one yourself,” she snarled, “just be careful of the hanging knives.”

The prince shrugged and rolled his eyes. He was more amused than scared, but let Mary pretend she still had it together. Crowley sighed, shutting the prince up as he pulled a piece of paper out of nowhere. He set it down on the table and threw the pen on top. He met Mary’s gaze as she grabbed the paper. She frowned and swiftly read it over.

The woman said nothing, but her face continued to turn down as she got further and further into the contract. Neither Winchester boy said anything, but both were high on tension. They were desperate to find out. What was being lost for their father?

Mary pushed her blonde hair out of her face. She knew that deep down inside she should feel disgusted or some sort of hesitance, but she had none. Hell, she’d sell her whole family’s soul if it meant her husband would stay safe.

And so, she signed her name at the bottom of the paper.

“Mom?” Sam whispered, staring at her with a frown. “What was it?”     Dean said nothing, but he glanced around the room. Crowley collected the contract, reading over it one more time  before smiling. Lucifer cackled and motioned for the soldiers behind him to move. The doors burst in and his father was dragged in, black hair covered in dust and speckled with blood. Red was crusted around his mouth and under his nose. His left eye was purple and green.

It only hit what the deal was when the soldiers forced Dean to his feet and forced the shackles onto his arms. “Mom…”

“Pleasure doing business with you, Mary,” Lucifer crowed, tipping an invisible hat.

His mother didn’t meet his eye as he was dragged from the room.

  
  



	5. [4] Execution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, I guess it's time that Dean and Castiel meet, right? *~* Noe

Dean still struggled to comprehend what happened. Even now as he was ushered to his room. He sat on the plush bed, staring at the wall. It was all so fast, one second he was nervously beside Sam and the next thing he knew, he was in the place, the oldest Novak sitting uncomfortably close. Halfway through the plane ride he realized what was happening.

His own mother had traded him for his father’s life.

His fingers traced the silver lines that were stitched into the deep red comforter. Maybe he should be fighting, maybe his mother hoped he would do something. But yet, his brain seemed frozen. This just wasn’t right. He wanted to go home—actually, no he didn’t. He didn’t think he could face his mom at this time. What kind of mother trades her own child for her husband?

In this world of survival, people will do unspeakable shit it seems.

That’s what snapped him. He stood up, a shout escaping him. It came up from the depths—pure anger and desperation. He didn’t mean to destroy the room, but somehow it all happened. The lamp crashed to the floor, the lightbulbs scattered in pieces across the ground. A book was thrown at the wall and now there was an obvious dent in the wallpaper. He broke the door to his bathroom. 

Then Dean Winchester came face to face with reality. He stood in front of the mirror, shock lining his face. All he saw was the despair and disbelief in his eyes and the destruction scattered around the room behind him. Pain swam through his head and he was so distracted by his own emotions, he didn’t even notice the deep cut in his hand. 

He sat on the floor, bringing his hands to his forehead. The scarlet liquid spread over the top half of his face and into his hair as his hand ran through his light brown strands. He didn’t cry and maybe it was because he was too tired and broken to find the ability to express any more emotion. 

This wasn’t what he expected out of life.  

 

_ “The gift has arrived. The gift has arrived.” _ It was repeated through the palace multiple times. It was like people couldn’t actually believe that the deal went through. No one seemed to fully comprehend that a Winchester was in the Novak kingdom. That he was here as a guest. He was here to stay and everyone was expected to be decently nice to him.

Castiel definitely didn’t know. He woke up late in the day, a sweet ache rolling through his body. There was dried sweat stuck to his naked body and stickiness ran along his stomach and thighs. He mewled as he stretched, the sunshine running in slants across his pale skin. He yawned, rolling over to come face to face with Meg. 

Her long eyelashes dusted her cheekbones. Her brown hair fell across her breasts in curls. Castiel smiled as he pushed himself up on his elbow and his eyes landed on the other person on the other side of her. Pierce Nether. The beautiful grey-eyed guard. 

“It’s rude to stare Clarence.”

Meg’s voice shook Castiel from his stupor. He snorted, but quickly looked away either way. Pierce groaned, rolling over as he slowly ascended into the realm of consciousness. His blonde hair was a mess, sticking up everywhere. The guard glanced up, meeting both Meg and Castiel’s gazes. He sighed.

“I probably have to get to work,” he muttered, avoiding eye contact as he rolled from the bed. 

Castiel glanced down, a frown setting into his face as he ran his hands down his thighs. He studied the pattern on the floor as the other man struggled into his clothes and left the room. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and his toes curled into the carpet. A cold hand pressed onto his back, the thumb rubbing comfortable circles along his spine. 

“You good?” She murmured and the bed shifted as the girl came to sit behind him. Her arms wrapped around his neck, breasts pressing against his bare back, and she pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. Castiel didn’t move, not even when she attempted to fix his knotted hair. “I’m sorry.”

Anger rolled through Castiel. Meg shouldn’t be the one apologizing. She hasn’t done anything wrong—she’s relentlessly stuck by Castiel’s side the past week. She upheld her promise and didn’t utter a peep to anyone else about Castiel’s true mystery lover. She wasn’t the one who left the bed without saying a single word. Yeah, maybe Meg was using him for a good fuck, better perks, and to get back into her father’s good graces, but currently she was his only real friend. 

He turned his head, roughly gripping her chin between his forefinger and thumb. The pair stared at each other: Meg nervously gulping  and Castiel’s eyes narrowing. His gaze dropped down to her lips, studying them silently. Then he pulled her to him, their lips violently crashing into each other. The waves hitting the surf, over and over. 

A giggle escaped Meg as the pair rolled back into bed. 

 

Dean really wasn’t sure how much time had passed. Eventually one of the maids stumbled into his room, only to find him lying on the bathroom floor, curled up, blood staining his face, shirt, arms, and the floor around him. He didn’t lose that much blood—it just looked like he did. 

Or maybe he had. He had barely noticed the maid when she furiously shook him. When he finally came to,  hazel eyes stared down at him worriedly. Her red hair fell in loose curls around her face. Dean had smiled awkwardly, showing signs of life, and then the maid did something unexpected.

She slapped him.

_ Hard. _

“You dumbass! I thought you were dead! Do you know how bad that would’ve been? You’re currently my problem and it would look absolutely awful if you killed yourself on my watch! Fuck, I just got this job and now I’ll be forced to explain to the King why his guest of honor is all bandaged up.”

The girl continued to ramble as she turned on the tap and practically forced the Prince into the tub. She carelessly ripped off his clothes, not even bothering to stare at his chiseled chest or defined stomach. She didn’t even hesitate when she shucked off his boxers, completely exposing him to the cold air. A blush rose over his cheeks but she didn’t bat an eyelash.

“Most of the time I take the girl for dinner before she gets to see me naked,” Dean joked uneasily. The maid, Charlie Bradberry, was not amused. She sent a sassy sneer his way before practically throwing the soap bar at him. 

“Don’t count on  _ that  _ ever happening,” she grumbled and stood up. She pulled at the uncomfortably short dress she had to wear—the white leggings underneath the brown dress didn’t help at all. She couldn’t bend over without showing her ass. “Just clean up, I’ll pick out your clothes and do your hair.”

Dean frowned as the feisty redhead marched from the room. It wasn’t that he’d never washed himself before—he’d done that plenty of times before—he’d never had someone at a lower social status treat him that way. Maybe it was a good reality check. Was he really a Prince anymore? She’d said “guest of honor” but for all he knew that could mean prisoner that they’ll fatten up and wash before they spill his blood everywhere.

He sighed and decided to ignore it. Death couldn’t truly be that bad, right? Dean scrubbed viciously at his skin, trying to ignore the magnificent smell of ginger and mint that wafted from the bar. He refused to accept that anything here was nice. Even though the tub was unnaturally comfortable, the water warm—well, the maids seemed to have a different sense of personality here.

He ended up staying in the tub longer than he would’ve liked. His fingers and hands wrinkled—the wound on his left one looking odd—and the water was cold. He struggled from the tub, letting the water slowly drain and then wrapped himself in a coffee-colored towel.  _ Dammit, it was warm and fluffy.  _

When he moved into the room, he met Charlie’s impatient gaze. She sat on the edge of the bed, arms crossed. She stood up, marching towards him and the prince found himself cringing in preparation for another smack or a rant. Instead, she threw a bundle of clothes at him. 

He threw them on—a deep red button up, dark gray vest, equally dark pants, and a shiny belt. The clothes were tighter than he would’ve liked, but he didn’t complain. The shirt pulled at his broad chest and large biceps. The dress pants hugged his thighs and ass, making him look rather…  _ delicious.  _ Dean looked so good in the whole outfit that he started to wonder why the Novak’s dressed him in it. Maybe they had a sick sense of humor. Or maybe they didn’t get off to brutal murder alone. 

“Okay, Dean, let’s get you down to that dinner,” Charlie muttered as she fixed his hair. 

“Wait,” he said, grabbing her wrist as she turned around. “What’s going on? Are they going to kill me?”

Her hazel eyes roved over his face before she let out a laugh of disbelief. She shook her head, ushering the young man outside. He repeated the question multiple times as the pair made their way down the hallways only to get no answer. The redhead was persistent in her silence. She kept her mouth shut until the two stopped in front of two grandly decorated doors. They were at least eight feet of dark wood, with gold carved in swirling patterns along the whole surface. Deep grooves in the shape of arches gave the rectangular doors a circular illusion.

Charlie knocked once and the doors were pulled open. They didn’t drag on the shining ivory floors and they didn’t even squeal. On the other side of the door was a long table that was mostly filled up. Two guards stared at him, hostility burning in their dark eyes. He frowned as the maid shoved him forward, forcing a bright smile onto her face.

“Your Majesty,” she murmured with a sweeping bow, “I present to you; Dean Winchester.”

The man at the head of the table stood up, a snide smile on his face. His light brown hair was curly and pushed back out of his face. Glasses were nestled on his nose, enlarging his brown eyes. His smile was kind, welcoming, but Dean felt anything but. This was the enemy. This was the man that demanded his life for his father’s.

_ But was it really his fault? It’s your mother who agr- _

“Please, dear Prince, have a seat.”

He motioned to an available chair. Dean tried to go to a different one only for Charlie to put a demanding hand on his elbow and steer him towards the chair. He kept his face stoic, pretending to be mildly interested in his shoes. He sat down, the chair scraping violently on the ground as he scooted forward. 

The girl he sat beside was also had red hair. She seemed nervous as she tucked a piece behind her hair and refused to even look at him. Everyone else was focused on Dean, but he ignored them. He kept an eye on her out of the corner of his eye. Her skin was extremely pale and her eyes were a deep brown, just like the King’s. Unlike most redheads, there was no sign of any freckles—just pure skin. 

Polite conversation picked up—none of it focused on him—but eyes were. There was nothing to use as a mild distraction. There was  no food on his clear plate and the glass in front of him was devoid of any liquid. Despite the situation, he refused to play with the napkin or silverware. It was his training (his “princely” training he’d received throughout the years)  that forced him not to. So instead, he just zoned out. 

Or at least tried to.

“So Dean, have you found the palace comforting?” An unknown person asked him this. Dean looked up. A man sat across from him, his hair down to his chin—slicked back—with a devilish smirk as he watched the Winchester prince. 

He didn’t want to admit it, but Dean felt powerless. He didn’t know names or titles. He didn’t know if the man before him was royalty or nobility. Hell, he could be a peasant. The King could have a weird sense of humor. 

“Lovely,” he muttered sarcastically and then glanced down at the plate again. Someone snorted and out of the corner of his eye, he watched as Anna covered her mouth. A smile pulled at her eyes. Dean smirked.

He would’ve said something more had the door not burst open. It was aggressive and unexpected, so unexpected that the guards barely got out of the way in time. One even rubbed at his head, throwing a furious look at the door. But it disappeared when a girl with brown hair marched through, a raven-haired man following after slowly. He slouched down, his hair a mess and blue eyes dilated. Stubble ran along his jaw and he looked like such a rugged mess tha—Dean cleared his throat as he shifted in his seat.

“Castiel, how nice of you to join us,” Chuck said dryly, running his finger along the rim of his golden cup. His youngest son sent him a scowl as he fell into the chair beside Meg. Meg smiled charmingly, flicking her hair over her shoulder.

“Sorry, Your Majesty, we lost track of time.”

The girl said it with such a giggle that it didn’t leave much to imagine. The whole table shifted their eyes away, throats clearing and eyes rolling. Dean’s foot bounced on the tile and his fingers drummed on his thigh. The energy in the room had darkened.

“Well, Dean, I’m sure you are rather confused, yes?” The King hummed, leaning forward in his seat with a smile. Before the man could answer, the King continued. “I’m not going to lie, we were debating on hanging you by your toes from the tallest tower, but it hit me rather hard today. Although we have plenty of nobility, none of them are around her age and well… they’re all complete trash. So, I thought, why not have my daughter marry one of the Winchester princes? Now, although I think your younger brother would be a better choice… he doesn’t have anything you see.”

Dean blanked. He had no idea who the daughter was. He also wasn’t keeping up with the conversation. He wasn’t dying, that’s what he picked up on. But instead, he’d be staying in the palace for the rest of his life? He didn’t understand—Sam would be a better choice, wouldn’t he? He wasn’t going to be Ki...

“I see,” Dean murmured, pulling at his collar as he met Chuck’s gaze. Everyone stared at him, some mocking, some sympathetic, and some just as confused as him.

We all know who the confused ones were.

_ They take me away, only to wed me to their daughter, and then force me back onto my own throne.  _

“And, do you understand and agree, Dean?” 

Chuck’s voice is hard. He meets the younger man’s stare, enforcing his dominance. It may have taken a lot of work to get Dean here, but if the Prince refused to abide by his rules, then he wouldn’t be alive to even try. It won’t be hard to get ahold of Sam Winchester, or in general, the whole family. At this point they might be easy to just completely destroy. A broken King upon the throne, a psycho Queen at his side, and a pissed off, untrained, King-to-be.

Dean’s gaze strays along the whole table. He spots Lucifer, leaning back in his chair, watching him with a mock smile. A black-haired man sits beside him, his eyes focused on the King. Then there’s the man who questioned him earlier and a blonde sitting beside him. On the other side is a blonde-haired woman, Crowley, and several others. He knows none of them will help him.

“Yes, Your Majesty, I understand.”

 

Castiel felt slightly put off by the Prince’s lack of argument. There was no fire, not even a bat of an eyelash. Just a blank face and a simple yes. Yes, Dean Winchester was absolutely gorgeous, but he wasn’t  _ interesting.  _ Or maybe, Castiel was being too judgemental. He’d stumbled into the dinner late and had only heard him talk twice. Maybe he was quirky or sarcastic or blunt. 

Castiel no longer cared—the kitchen doors had opened up and the food smelled amazing. His mouth watered and his brain fogged over. There was also Meg’s hand that slowly crawled  up his thigh; her long fingers danced across his leg like she was playing a harp. Silence falls over the table as everyone digs in. 

He could feel his father’s hardened stare on him—rather on him and Meg—but he ignores it. His father wasn’t happy about Meg, he knew that. No words had to be said over that matter: he could sense his father’s disappointment and anger from a million miles away. Meg wasn’t on anyone’s “goodie-girl” list, but she was Castiel’s little pet that he intended to keep. 

Castiel looked up from his food for a quick second and met Anna’s gaze across the table. It was only for a split second. A blush lined her cheeks and she looked back to Dean with a smile. The Prince was pushing his food around the plate, murmuring quietly to the girl. Castiel watched the Winchester closely—his green eyes were brighter in real life and he had hundreds of freckles. He didn’t look like a prince, he looked like he could be a labor worker or a hunter. His arms poured out of the wonderfully chosen shirt and his chest was broad enough that the buttons strained to stay together. 

He looked  _ delicious  _ and it wasn’t okay.

  
  
  



	6. [5] Pretty Boy

Dean hated to admit it, but the Novak castle was actually comfortable. It’d been a week since he’d arrived. Yes, he was still furious that this deal was ever made, but there was something about the palace that forced you to love it. The family was the same way—even Lucifer, no matter how creepy—they all had a certain charm to them that made you enjoy their company. All of them except Castiel. The youngest prince hadn’t been very welcoming towards Dean, he just stared at him with this odd, quizzical look and then would say nothing. The one interaction they had with each other where they actually talked. Dean had been walking down to the gardens, not paying attention, when the man appeared out of nowhere. 

The two had tumbled to the ground— _ hard.  _ Castiel had been unfortunate since Dean had practically fallen on top of him. There was an awkward scuffle as the two tried to untangle themselves (despite not even being tangled) and it didn’t help that the raven-haired man had come across as extremely flustered. His cheeks were bright red, his blue eyes widened, and he refused to meet Dean’s gaze, not even when the Winchester profusely apologized. He had given him a tight smile, muttered ‘sorry’ under his breath, and then disappeared out of sight. It was like Castiel had flown out he was gone so quick.

It still confused Dean, even after two days— _ did the man not like him? Why not? _ He’d been nice to  _ nearly _ everybody. He’d given Lucifer his honest thoughts and ever since then the oldest Prince backed off, but his smirk wasn’t wiped away. 

Dean didn’t know why he was so desperate to make the whole family like him. They were the enemy—he should be a nuisance, he should be breaking shit, or just doing something  _ rude.  _ Instead, he’s gone into “polite-boy” mode and had been opening doors for everyone, apologizing for things that weren’t his fault, and constantly smiling. 

_ Were they drugging him?  _

It was a lazy morning. Dean sat alone in the garden; not even the gardener was present. It was peaceful: the leaves rustled in the breeze, sunlight filtered through the breaks in the leaves, and warmth filled the air. He was glad to be alone for once this week, to have peace with his own thoughts. All week it seemed he was never alone—one Novak would disappear only for another to appear. Anna was almost constantly around him, the sweet redhead always making sure he was content. 

He tried over and over to tell himself it was annoying—he hated being helicoptered—but yet, it was almost impossible to conjure up negative emotions. Even when he tried to force them they wouldn’t appear. The only time he got annoyed is in the morning, every time Charlie bursts in, unnecessarily early and chipper, ushering him into the bath and talking his ear off. Of course, Charlie has come to be his favorite. The girl was a bright ray of sunshine, but had a wide range of sarcasm and quirks.

“Enjoying the fresh air, hmmm?” 

Dean looked up and frowned when he met the mocking brown gaze. Meg Masters stood before him, her head tilted to the side as she watched him with a calculative smirk. Lucifer wasn’t the only person he didn’t like: Meg never failed to annoy the crap out of him and she somehow managed to be the one he ran into the most. She was like a parasite and he must’ve been a fig tree.

“Well, I  _ was,” _ he muttered and stood up, preparing to go inside. He’d learned the best way to deal with Meg was just to walk away whenever she approached him. 

“Oh come on princey-boy, don’t run away,” she said with a snort. 

He heard her footsteps fall loudly on the cement and then saw her when she skittered to a stop in front of him. She smirked up at him, arms crossed and he sighed. His hands landed on his hips and he glared down at her. 

“What do you want Meg?”

She rolled her eyes. “I don’t know, to have a conversation? You’re going to be stuck here for a couple years, we may as well become friends, right?”

He scoffed and sidestepped around the girl. She groaned and chased after him. Dean tried to ignore her as she aimlessly talked to him as she sauntered beside him. There were a million things that annoyed him—her voice, her attitude, and the way she talked like they could ever possibly be friends. Dean didn’t know why, but the second he met Meg (not the first night, but when Chuck introduced him to all of his kids) there was something about her that got on his nerves. 

“Okay, listen, Meg,” he snapped as he turned to her, “I don’t want to be friends with you. I don’t have to be friends with everyone here and believe me, I would never even send a smile your way. So, don’t get it into your little head that we’re going to be connected at the hip!”

Meg took a step back, eyes widening for a split second. Then, a laugh escaped her and a smirk spread across her face. She looked Dean up and down. 

“Looks like you’re not some boring prick like Castiel thought,” she said with a laugh. She patted his chest and then ran her hand down his arm. She winked as she sauntered away.

Dean watched her leave, blinking rapidly as he tried to figure out what just happened. Had the girl seriously been tormenting him the past week just to see if he if was “exciting”? He knew he’d be talked about, but for some reason he found himself shocked that Castiel and his girlfriend were talking about him—not just about him being here—but about his personality and stuff. Why did they care if he came across as boring or not? 

Why did he, himself care so much?

 

“Let’s see what you can do with a sword, Winchester.”

Dean didn’t know how he’d gotten himself into this situation. He stood inside a green circle with Gabriel. Suspicious red splatters littered the ground. A sword—not sharpened—was roughly handed to him and Gabriel held an identical one, a grin on the man’s face. Balthazar and Anna stood on the outskirts, the blonde standing with a bag of popcorn and the girl pacing back and forth wearily. He glanced at the pair and then back at Gabe, shifting from foot to foot.

“Do I actually want to do this?” Dean muttered, twirling the sword in his hand. The shorter man laughed as he bounced, ready to skewer Dean. 

“Gabriel, I swear to God, you better go easy on him!” Anna called, her eyes squinted as she watched the situation. Dean glanced from Anna to Gabriel, before shrugging and letting out an almost sardonic laugh. 

Gabriel couldn’t beat him that bad, could he? _Two seconds._ It took the Novak just two seconds to knock Dean’s sword out of his grip and to get his back on the dusty floor. The air was knocked out of him and he just stared up at Gabe. He struggled to understand what just happened but all he could figure out was that the floor was much more comfortable than he anticipated. 

He gripped Gabe’s hand and pulled himself up. Once the man knew that Dean was okay, he burst into laughter. He bent over, hands on his knees, the laughter belting out at loud volumes. Balthazar’s laughter joined him and Dean’s cheeks warmed as the two howled like hyenas. He glanced over at Anna, who was covering her own mouth as she struggled to contain her own laughter. 

“Dean, have you ever held a sword in your life before?” Balthazar called, shoveling another handful of popcorn into his mouth. “I’m sure even Castiel could beat you, and that’s saying something since Cassie hasn’t shown a single interest in war once!”

“Oh please,” Dean snapped, “I got some training throughout my life—I can’t possibly be  _ that  _ bad!”

The two brothers shared a secret look, identical sly grins on their stupid faces. Anna sighed and sat down on the bench, muttering something under her breath. A maid—a short girl that Dean hadn’t even noticed—scurried along the wall and left the room. He frowned, dusting off his hair and shirt. Gabriel patted him on the shoulder, a knowing smile on his face. 

“What the fuck do you want me for, Gabe?” 

The man walked through the doorway; his hair a mess, the top of his shirt unbuttoned—revealing several hickies traveling down his neck and chest—and his blue eyes were completely blown out. He obviously hadn’t shaved today, his scruff was darker than normal. It drew attention to his sharp jawline and high cheekbones. His hands rested on his hips, one hip popped to the side, chest puffed out, and his legs spread like he was about to go all macho on someone’s ass. 

Specifically Dean’s.

Gabe smiled, bounded over towards his younger brother—although, the way Gabriel acted and the difference in height between the brothers would make anyone think that Castiel was the older—and whispered something in his ear.  The raven-haired man leaned back, attempting to fix his hair as he ran a hand through it, only for the hair to stick up even more. He glanced over at Dean, tilting his head in confusion and then a wicked smile appeared. 

“Sure.”

The Prince made his way across the room, bending over to pick up Gabe’s discarded sword. He tested the weight, switching it from hand to hand and balancing the handle on his palm. Castiel chuckled, studying Dean’s puzzled expression. He didn’t pick up that Dean wasn’t even remotely aware of what was going on. 

“Okay, Dean, let’s see who will win.”

His deep, gravelly voice sent tremors through the Winchester’s body. Castiel wasted no time as he started to pace the line of the circle, a predatory look lighting up his blue eyes. Dean tried to focus, he really did, but he found it nearly impossible: between the man’s messy, sex god hair, his sharp collarbone and creamy skin, and the way he was looking at Dean like he could eat him alive, Dean’s focus was completely out the huge, unnaturally clean window. 

And so, when Castiel took his first swing, Dean was barely able to block. His sword came up last second and the force of the blow was enough for the Winchester to take a step back. He knew he should force himself to attention—but his eyes and mind kept betraying him. Right now, Castiel was not the best thing to be mixed with Dean’s brain.  The second arc came and Dean didn’t even try to use his sword: he just brought his left arm up, letting the dulled blade bounce off his arm. 

_ Sweat, gasps, and oh god—he loved the feeling of the his hand wrapped around his throat.  _ Castiel’s foot came out, ramming Dean straight in the stomach. The man fell to the ground with a grunt, losing grip of his sword. Rose tinted his cheeks as the tip of the sword came to rest right on his throat, Castiel’s dangerously blue eyes on the other end. He coughed, swatting the sword away and sitting up. 

He needed to leave; the images were running through his mind and they refused to leave. He had enough self-control to keep the blood moving north, but it wouldn’t be for long. He ran a hand through his hair as he stood up, brushing off his pants for the millionth time and refusing to meet Castiel’s heated stare—because he knew he was imagining the heat. The look Castiel was giving him wasn’t meant to be sexual, it was a “focus face” and all it did was send unnecessary images to the front of his head.

“Okay…  bye.”

Was it suspicious to run out of there like a coward? Probably. The Novaks might even think that his ego was hurt and it slightly was—he’d always been proud of being the suave one. Being the one who pulls the reins, plays the cards, and just charmingly smile when the other person got flustered. He wasn’t supposed to be the one who blushed like a little teenage girl, but here we was. 

The brown walls and red carpet passed by him in a blur as he rushed towards his room. Charlie was there, waiting for him, obviously aware that he would want to freshen up after his training session. He didn’t mean to be rude, but he abruptly ushered her out, refusing to offer an explanation as to why he wanted to be alone. 

He turned on the shower and leaned against the counter. He closed his eyes and a low groan fell from his lips. His trousers were constricting and he hurried out of his clothes, standing for a moment in the cool air of the bathroom before he leaped into the warm shower. 

Dean ran a hand through his hair over and over, trying to catch his thoughts and force them into order. This wasn’t okay—he shouldn’t be thinking of anyone that way at this point. He was marrying Anna soon and Castiel, well, Castiel was happily with Meg. He dragged a hand down his face and sighed. He turned the water cold, ignoring the electric spike that ran through his body as it drenched him. The heat took a long time to leave—his lips were blue and teeth chattering loudly together by the time it all disappeared.

Afterwards he threw on a robe, rubbing at his face. What was that? He just completely lost control and not just because of anyone—but because of his future wife’s brother. 

“This is so fucked up,” he whispered, “I’m getting forced into a marriage with a woman I don’t love and I’m getting all dizzy because of her younger brother.”

_ Shit. Shit. Shit. _

 

Dean retired early that night, having dinner brought to his room, only to secretly toss it out the window once Charlie left. He wasn’t tired—he just didn’t feel like facing the Novak family right now. He wasn’t sure if anyone noticed his  _ predicament  _ but if they did, he didn’t want to face them and explain. He at least expected Castiel to have noticed; he’d been right there, mere inches from his face. 

He ended up not sleeping at all that night. His thoughts were a furious jumble that spiraled out of control just when the moon started to rise. As the night had continued, he found himself getting angrier and angrier— _ he wasn’t acting like himself.  _ It bothered him a lot: at home he was the sarcastic one, the Prince that was skeptical and only cared and himself and his brother. Why was he going along with these plans? He didn’t want to marry Anna, she seemed nice, but he didn’t know her. 

He didn’t want to put her on his throne. 

_ His throne.  _

Dean was never what you would call a “self-absorbed prince” but maybe it was time he became one.    

  
  
  



End file.
